"I certainly am the most fortunate of men to find so warm a welcome from
you, and so good a home as that which I have at Haddon Hall. When I met
Dorothy at the inn, I knew at once by her kindness that my friends of old
were still true to me. I was almost stunned by Dorothy's beauty."

My mention of Dorothy was unintentional and unfortunate. I had shied from
the subject upon several previous occasions, but Sir George was
continually trying to lead up to it. This time my lack of forethought
saved him the trouble.

"Do you really think that Doll is very beautiful--so very beautiful? Do
you really think so, Malcolm?" said the old gentleman, rubbing his hands
in pride and pleasure.

"Surprisingly beautiful," I answered, seeking hurriedly through my mind
for an excuse to turn the conversation. I had within two months learned
one vital fact: beautiful as Dorothy was, I did not want her for my wife,
and I could not have had her even were I dying for love. The more I
learned of Dorothy and myself during the autumn through which I had just
passed--and I had learned more of myself than I had been able to discover
in the thirty-five previous years of my life--the more clearly I saw the
utter unfitness of marriage between us.

"In all your travels," asked Sir George, leaning his elbows upon his
knees and looking at his feet between his hands, "in all your travels and
court life have you ever seen a woman who was so beautiful as my girl
Doll?"

His pride in Dorothy at times had a tinge of egotism and selfishness. It
seemed to be almost the pride of possession and ownership. "My girl!" The